


'Tis the Sea-sun

by robocryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Gift Giving, Holidays, M/M, Polyamory, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: Genji and Lúcio do some last minute shopping, hunting for the perfect Hawaiian shirt for Baptiste. After that, there's playing on the beach, dancing, and finally exchanging their holiday gifts. It's silly, feel-good holiday fluff.
Relationships: Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Genji Shimada, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada, Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59





	'Tis the Sea-sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloomingcnidarians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomingcnidarians/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Since I am sometimes asked: you have my blanket permission to podfic, translate or remix my stuff, make fan art, make fanmixes, etc. -- basically anything that qualifies as transformative works! You don't have to ask me. The only thing I do ask is that you share it with me, because I wanna see/hear/read it! 
> 
> What you do not have permission to do is wholesale copy and repost my fic to a different platform, such as a third-party app that profits from free fan labor. If you are reading this on an app like that, I assure you AO3's website on mobile is perfectly robust, allows downloads of fics for offline reading, has a [dark mode skin](https://archiveofourown.org/skins/929), and isn't trying to scam you by offering premium services that change nothing.#
> 
> \--
> 
> Written for bloomingcnidarians' birthday, based on a couple different prompts she's thrown my way, most obviously: "finding the perfect Hawaiian shirt for Baptiste."
> 
> I am actually very sorry for that title. It's probably on a million Etsy crafts.

#

“I can’t believe a man that hot can dress so stupidly,” Lúcio griped, but he wore a grin that softened his words too much for them to have a real bite.

“I can,” Genji said. He had, after all, worked with Gabriel Reyes once upon a time. McCree qualified too, he supposed, although he would give up his good arm before he’d admit that within McCree’s earshot. In either case, he had seen many otherwise attractive men spoil nature’s gifts with their bad taste.

None of them had managed to make it _endearing_ until he met Baptiste.

“Not that you get to judge either.” Lúcio’s reproach was as playful as his griping, although the frustration with which he dug through the clothing rack was quite real. “Ass out is not a fashion statement.”

“You complain now, but you seem to appreciate it in private.” 

Lúcio shot him a look that said he’d say more — probably something filthy — if they weren’t standing in the middle of a boutique full of tacky clothing, surrounded by other last-minute shoppers. It was their fourth stop of the day, and although they had miraculously managed to navigate the crowds without Lúcio being recognized, they were both becoming overwhelmed by the sheer mass of people they had encountered today. 

Hannukah began in only a few days, and shortly after that was Christmas, and although Genji had never been one to celebrate either, he now had two boyfriends and they all needed to celebrate _both_. Together. With gifts. 

It was not often that he missed the days when he was (as Lúcio fondly put it) a fuckboy, but there was something to be said for never having to consider presents or their attendant expectations. To make matters worse, Baptiste was a thoughtful, enthusiastic gift-giver, and Lúcio was not terribly far behind him. Genji was out of his depth. He supposed it was fortunate, then, that he had each of them to help him sort out a gift for the other.

It was less fortunate that Baptiste’s tastes were so… colorful. Lúcio held two shirts aloft, one a brilliant purple and decorated in bird-of-paradise flowers, the other a vicious red covered in coconuts. “These are the least bad on this rack,” Lúcio said with a sigh. “What about yours?”

Genji produced his own two: a white woman reclining on a pink pool lounger, floating serenely with all her clones across a sea of fuchsia, and an acceptable sky blue with an unacceptable pattern of _hot dogs_. “The tag calls this one ‘sausage party’,” Genji added helpfully.

“Holy shit.” Lúcio wrinkled his nose then looked resigned. “Add it to the maybes.”

This was the trickiest part of gift-giving, Genji was learning. Sometimes one had to give a gift that felt too much like enabling something terrible, if ultimately harmless. He draped the _sausage party_ over one arm, where several of its spiritual cousins lay: the flamingos-with-sunglasses, the sharks-with-sunglasses, the _pineapples_ -with-sunglasses, and the more traditional floral print on a neon green so powerful that even Genji and Lúcio disapproved.

They sorted through two more racks of Hawaiian shirts, discarding some of their maybe-pile in favor of greater atrocities. The rubber ducks were almost cute, but Lúcio put his foot down and would not allow Genji to include the one with the buxom women in some truly baffling combinations of corsets and surf suits. Privately, Genji thought it was the funniest, but it was not so funny that he was willing to start an argument over it. 

Suddenly, Lúcio let out a soft gasp. “I found The One,” he said in a reverent mock whisper.

He held it high so that Genji could see. It was nothing like any of the others Baptiste had, and it was utterly perfect. Fate was with them: there was only one there, and it was in Baptiste’s size. 

They selected two of the others from their shortlist, but this was the true gift. They made their purchase, and Lúcio waited until they were back in the relative anonymity of a crowd of people to ask, “So we agree I found the best one?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hell yes. You owe me a blow job.”

Genji grinned behind his mask, unsure how that sort of outcome made him the loser.

* * *

The weather outside was balmy — a perk of having chosen a tropical locale for their break — and they spent the remaining time leading up to the holidays on the beach. Swimming was not on the table unless Genji wanted his boyfriends to have to scrub him down afterward in a distinctly unsexy way, but he could watch Lúcio and Baptiste play in the surf and lounge in the sun, and he could be content with that.

In return for his braving the briny ocean air with his many metal parts, they took him dancing in the evening at a place with very low lighting and a reputation for being friendly to omnic and human alike. He hadn’t danced in years before he met Lúcio, and he still was not fond of crowds, but it was nice as a rare treat. The music rumbled down to his bones, and it was easy to forget anything but the three of them for a time, the rest of the world passing by unseen.

When the crush of people grew too much and he needed a break in a dark corner booth sooner than they did, they always respected that. Baptiste needed a break sometimes too; crowds made him similarly anxious. Sometimes he lost that easygoing manner and grew too watchful and had to put his back to the wall; Genji had spent long enough around mercenaries and Overwatch agents to know it was common.

If the watchfulness was his reason for joining Genji in the booth, it was not the worst it had ever been. He still grinned widely and squeezed in closely in the seat, and he sipped at his hideous drink. It glowed pale blue in the blacklight, and there may have been more fruits garnishing the rim than actual liquid in the glass.

“How long should we let him go? Hour? Half hour?” Baptiste asked, teeth flashing faintly blue in the same tacky lighting. 

Lúcio could dance until the sun came up. Genji could too, if he was in the right mood, but tonight he’d already had enough of people, and he was eager to return to their rental. “Split the difference. Forty-five minutes.”

Baptiste nodded and rested a hand on Genji’s thigh. Fingers kneaded invitingly over the synthetic muscle there, but any possible seduction was lost when Baptiste missed his neon straw and spent several long seconds searching it out with his tongue. Genji stole a wedge of pineapple off the side of his glass and loosened the faceplate enough to slip it through, head ducked low. Some part of him wondered if he was not _more_ conspicuous like this, and if it was worth all the effort if he mostly only ended up with sticky fingers. 

Lúcio found them like this: one making a fool of himself with his straw and the other making a fool of himself trying to smuggle fruit under his mask rather than remove it in public. His tipsy giggling was the thing that convinced Genji it was time to leave; it had nothing at all to do with how embarrassing it was to be caught like this. At least they didn’t have to go through the sometimes-arduous task of removing Lúcio from the dance floor. 

Baptiste paid for it all, and he worked his usual charm to secure a plastic cup, in which he deposited most of the fruity garnish from his drink. Genji’s face burned, but he could still recognize it as a thoughtful gesture.

It was a short trip by car back to their rented bungalow. When they arrived, there was a package on the doorstep with Baptiste’s name on it. The lack of address or even distinctive markings made Genji tense, but Baptiste seemed completely unperturbed, almost as if he’d expected it. 

Inside was only an innocuous gift, a bottle of rum and one of the exact Hawaiian shirts Genji and Lúcio had discarded as _too_ ridiculous — the one with the busty, absurdly-dressed women all over it. Baptiste’s laugh as he unfolded it was enough to make Genji second-guess their choices, as well as try to catch Lúcio’s eye. Facundo Paraíso was expensive for rum, and this bottle came with a note attached. In purple ink, and in some of the sloppiest handwriting Genji had ever seen, it said, _It’s not for mixing. Don’t ruin it by putting it in one of your awful cocktails. Happy holidays to you and your boyfriends._

There was no signature, nothing at all to reveal who the sender was, but there was a tiny, messy doodle of a skull. Baptiste seemed not-at-all distressed by either having been tracked here or by the lack of name. When they asked who it might be, he shook his head and said only, “An old friend.” He had few mysteries about him, but those that remained were typically related to his past with Talon; it was safe to assume this was an association that could get them both in trouble. The lack of name made sense, then.

Baptiste followed instructions and poured the rum alone into three glasses with no mixers. The remaining garnish paired well with the sweet, smoky rum. 

They sat on the floor to share their presents. Lúcio went first. His was in a small box, one Genji and Baptiste had put rocks in to disguise the real gift’s light weight. Beneath the rocks sat an envelope, which held six tickets — three for a flight from Gibraltar, three to a concert in Numbani in January. It was Lúcio’s favorite DJ, whose live shows he had never managed to catch before. There was perhaps another layer to it, as Genji notoriously disliked crowds and Baptiste notoriously disliked the style of music, and they were both willing to set it aside to go with him.

In return for this conscientiousness, they each received a shout of delight and an enthusiastic kiss, after which Lúcio asked Genji, “Why is your face sticky?”

Genji flushed again; stupid pineapple. After excusing himself to wash the fruit juice from his chin, Genji returned to find them both laughing giddily, their faces close enough together that they had almost certainly been kissing again. 

“I think I got it all,” Genji said, ignoring the heat in his face. 

“Let me check.” Baptiste grinned, and it grew even wider as Genji returned to the floor and moved in close. Baptiste’s big hands framed his face and held him steady for a long, drawn out kiss that was almost certainly more thorough than necessary. 

He did not stop until Genji was halfway into his lap and Lúcio quietly said, “Presents.”

Baptiste broke the kiss with a laugh, then he rubbed a thumb over Genji’s chin. “Right. All clean.”

Lúcio was watching them with a familiar hungry look, but they could put it off until after their gifts, at least. It was Baptiste’s turn. He pulled the tissue paper free of the bag, and he found the photos first of the repairs made to his old clinic in Haiti, paid for in part by Lúcio and Genji, and the rest by several more of their teammates. It was kind and his eyes grew wet, but his more personal gift remained. 

He removed each shirt with a progressively wider grin. It was the last, though, that elicited a quiet gasp. He held it reverently, fingers running over the fabric in a way that would be painfully enticing were it skin and not a tacky Hawaiian shirt; as it was, it was still seventy-five percent enticing. 

“This is the greatest thing I have ever seen,” Baptiste said, voice still colored with his awe. “Like the final evolution of the Hawaiian shirt.” 

He wasn’t wrong. It was a Hawaiian shirt whose pattern was other Hawaiian shirts, which were printed in turn with their own tiny Hawaiian shirts, and so on until the print became too small to see. It was utterly stupid, and Baptiste so obviously loved it. 

They got sidetracked with kissing again, then with pouring another round of the very fine rum, but Genji finally got to his present. The box was lighter than its size made it seem, and it was stuffed to the brim with too much tissue paper. Inside was… a stuffed animal. A white tiger, specifically. And while he was happy to receive any gift at all from anyone, but especially his boyfriends, he had to admit this one was confusing.

They let him stew in it a moment before Lúcio finally laughed at him. “There’s more in there.” 

Now suspicious, Genji reached back into the box, dug through the tissue paper, and uncovered a large, stiff envelope. It was a certificate of “adoption” for a Bengal tiger who lived in a sanctuary, complete with a photo and a brief written history of her life. She had only just been born, and her name was Kaze — a Japanese name chosen by the men who had adopted her in Genji’s name. 

“You got me a tiger?” he asked.

Lúcio grinned. “Well, we couldn’t get you a pet, but… yeah. Sort of.”

“You got me a _tiger_ ,” he said, his enthusiasm growing as he processed the information.

“We can go visit her whenever you want,” Baptiste said. “The sanctuary is in Spain. Just a few hours from Gibraltar.”

“It’s technically just a donation—” Lúcio started.

“But we know you don’t really like _things_ —”

“You. Got me. _A tiger_.” 

Both Lúcio and Baptiste laughed, clearly pleased their gift had gone over so well, and Genji laughed with them, before they all melted into a tangle of limbs, careful not to knock their rum glasses over onto all their new things. 

They kissed until all their mouths were bruised, did more until their bodies were pleasantly sore and exhausted, and they fell asleep practically in a pile. Genji woke with his tiger plush between himself and Baptiste, and with Lúcio at his back, and he could not think of a single time in his life when he’d been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to YourAverageJoke for helping me figure out what kind of gift they should give Genji!
> 
> Kaze is also the name of Genji's dragon in ChillieBean's lovely McHanzo + Gentiste fics here: [Oodles of Noodles series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578139).


End file.
